This story is from the far long before, back when the world was hard and solid and rough as a ragged shale around its rim. The greatfathers and the greatmothers were all gone, and the wound left over from the ending of the first times was still sore and raw and bleeding. All things bled from that ruinous hurt, and many bled all the way down, but a few still lived. The peoples scraped their way back bit by bite and belly by claw and the world began to heal a little, and perhaps even to soften at their touch. The green came back from its smouldering ruins and crawled farther still, spreading life for life to feed on wherever it went. The peoples grew stronger and larger and began to recover a bit of their old place, and that was when the troubles began again.
The first sign of warning came from near the water, where people that went to fish would start slipping away and vanishing. Oh well, said the others. Should be more careful. But when it happened more often, and sometimes to the others that talked about being careful, well, that was just puzzling and worrying.
The next signs were from farther inland, in the murkier forests and bogs. There it was even less noticeable – a bog could suck you down right quick and you had to be fast to stop getting eaten there – but by now everyone was nervous, and the people there took note of when they started vanishing, and they were worried too.
The last sign came when Grandmother Cru was out hunting for some meat, and she heard a rustling down in the forest. Out she flew and caught something, and it was only after she wrestled it down and it wasn’t moving that she saw that it was one of the scuttling people, the ones with the many eyes. She was surprised deeply with that, since all the scuttling people had died under the wounding that ended the first times.
That’s strange, she told the peoples. That is strange, they agreed. And why are they hunting us? Scuttling people didn’t do that.
Well, scuttling people do now, said Grandmother Cru. And she was right. They were angry and bold now that they’d been discovered, and they came swarming out of the shallow pools and bogs they’d been hiding in, lots and lots of them. Scuttling people were everywhere, and they were angry, too angry to talk, too angry to think. The peoples fought, but they were weary instead of angry and worried instead of warlike, and soon there were no more left but the children and the grandmothers and grandfathers.
This is bad, they said. What’re we going to do?
Grandfather No had an idea. He always had ideas. We can’t fight them this way, he said. So let’s find new ways. We’re old, too old to fight fair. Let’s go and learn and take what we need until we can fight.
Good plan, said the others, and so the grandmothers and the grandfathers went their separate ways, all around and out and far. They didn’t want to leave the children unprotected, so they dug a dark pit in the ground and stuffed them into it, then locked it with a fallen tree. Stay put, they said, and stay quiet. Now remember, don’t make any noise, for any reason, or the scuttling people will hear you. The children were good children, and they did as they were told.
Grandmother Cru journeyed far to the east, off into the sea. The water looked oh so good and tempting, but she knew that she would drown if she walked in, so she looked along the beach. It was covered in little mud droplets, all hiding bright-coloured, vain little sea-shells.
Who here can swim? she called.
Me! Me! Me! clamoured all the sea shells, shrill with importance. Me! Me! I can do it! They dug themselves to the surface and tumbled over each other in their haste to prove their claim. Grandmother Cru just laughed and gathered them all up, and had a fine meal, cooking them all in the fire. When it was through she took the charred-burnt shells and slapped them all over her body, and she had a fine suit of armour that made her stiff and sturdy and slow. She took to the water and swam along, a bit portly and bumpy but altogether pleasant, and then she ran into a shark.
What are you? asked the shark. He was young and brave and very foolish.
I’m me, replied Grandmother Cru sensibly.
The shark was hot-tempered, and this annoyed him. Don’t be rude, he yelled, or I’ll bite you clean in half. My teeth are strong and sharp enough that no armour can stop them, not even that clanking coat of yours.
My, my, they are sharp indeed, said Cru. But I’ll bet they can’t bite me.
If I can’t bite you in half, said the shark, then I’m as flat and toothless as a sea slug. I’ll show you. And the shark plucked up Grandmother Cru in his jaws and shook her all around like a little fish, teeth gnashing and clashing and jaws squeezing and biting. He seized her so hard that she squished in the middle and stretched out both sides, until she was long and lean, but Grandmother Cru just laughed at him no matter how hard he tried. He wriggled and shook and thrashed until every tooth fell out of his head, his mouth withered up, and he’d beaten himself flat against the water. Finally he gave up in exhaustion, and Grandmother Cru took his teeth. You aren’t a shark, but you aren’t quite a sea slug, she said. I think you are something new, and I will call you a ray. It is a good word.
Grandmother Cru popped her new teeth into her toothless old maw and snapped them tight. They were good strong teeth still, built for gnashing, and her new thin firm body was as muscled as anything. She laughed and clacked and roared her way along the coast and into the rivers and swamps, and the scuttling people fled from her in fear, those that she did not tear apart and swallow.
Grandfather Ter went wandering north. There were many tall trees there, so tall that his old, old neck creaked to look up at them, and he walked so long and far that his feet hurt and he had to stop to rub them besides a creek. There were dragonflies about the creek, just the thing to eat, but he had nothing to catch them with. So he sat and thought and rubbed his arms and legs, cursing his old, brittle bones, and then he had a cunning idea. He walked over to one of the tall trees and picked off as many branches as he could carry, and then he covered himself with them very carefully. He held those branches up all day, arms straining, legs bowing close to the dirt with the effort, and at nightfall the dragonflies came to perch. Grandfather Ter waited until they were asleep, then quick as lightning bit out at them one after another, swallowing the plump bodies and spitting out the gummy wings, which fluttered all over him. Their legs were sharp as anything and stuck to the roof of his mouth, which hurt badly, and Grandfather Ter swore and jumped up and down, spitting and cursing as loud as he could until the moon nearly blanched. He swore and hawked and cursed and jumped and as he did so more and more of the wings and branches were glued all over his stretched and strained thin old arms by his own spittle. His bowed legs were stomped down to nubbins by the time he collapsed in exhaustion at dawn, and although the spikes in his mouth no longer pained him, they were stuck firm and never moving again, his yelling and their prodding turning his voice into a squawking croak.
The sunlight dried Grandfather Ter as he dozed, and by midday he stood up and found it was too hard to walk, his legs had got so short and his wings-and-branches arms so heavy. More dragonflies were above the stream, and when he hopped and leaped at them, hoping against hope, that was when Grandfather Ter found that he could fly.
Up and up he flapped, needle-filled mouth snatching at food, and he cackled so hard he nearly choked. His old thin bones floated on the winds and troubled him no more as he circled in the sky. The scuttling people heard his voice from on high, and the sound where there had been silence filled them with worry. He cackled and dived down at them, pecking with his needles, and they did not stay in his lands.
Grandmother Cth took to the west, and she came to the sea as well, all around the other side, in different waters. It seemed so very large that her knees shook to look at it, and they shook so hard that they nearly came loose. Now don’t do that, she told them, and they hushed up some, which let her wander the beach in peace and quiet. It was a big, broad sea out there, and she sat and thought on what to do for a long time. A plan popped into her head at last, and she began to gather up pebbles and throw them into the water, splashing them about and making a dreadful noise. Soon up came a big angry fish. What are you meaning throwing those stones onto my reef? he asked angrily. It’s brand-new as it is, thanks to the wounding, and now you go and throw stones on it. What do you want anyways?
Awfully sorry, said Grandmother Cth, but I can make it up to you. How would you like to trade? I’ve got a set of good legs here, and I’ll let you give them a try if you’ll let me see your thick hide.
The big fish was still a bit angry, but he thought it over. He’d always wanted to see the land above the seas for a bit, even a little bit, but the thought of leaving his precious water made him leery. All right, he said, but only for a short time. I’ll try your legs, and you can try my hide, but we’ll trade back after I’m finished, is that clear?
Yes indeed, said Grandmother Cth, and she was so eager to take off her legs that it made the big fish suspicious. One more thing then, he said. To make sure no one cheats and runs away, we’ll each keep ahold of something important. I’ll keep my eggs, and you can keep your lungs.
I’ll be fairer still, said Grandmother Cth. We can share my lungs. That way I can’t run away, and you don’t have to hold your breath while you walk. This generosity put the big fish off his guard, and as he walked onto the land he did so in utter good faith. However, after his fifth step in Grandmother Cth’s wobbling old knees, he knew something was wrong.
Old woman, what have you done? he cried, but his only answer was a laugh as Grandmother Cth sped away over the waves. She didn’t have eggs, but she would think of something, and she didn’t have lungs, but she could hold her breath. The big fish hopped up and down the shore in a fury all night before limping inland to find somewhere wet where his skinless body wouldn’t dry out. It was small comfort to find himself able to breath above and below the water, for his old worn-out kneecaps were too feeble to bear walking, and he had to hop everywhere he went. He was bitterly unhappy, and called himself a frog, which he thought was a foolish person.
Grandmother Cth had not a care in the world for it, and she swam the ocean main, boldly, far out into the warm and shallow expanses that the scuttling ones had called home. Her snapping bill and gnashing teeth drove them away in fear, and she had little care for her missing legs – she had hands and feet to paddle with, as well as her strong long tail.
Grandfather No walked south, and he walked farthest. Off into the deep desert he marched, old grandfather No, and he thought as he walked, bolt upright, muscles firmed. The sun baked his skin firm and painted it strange hues, the walking stiffened his legs so that they were warped straight as a line, his body itself wavered and shrank to almost tiny size under the sky’s gaze, but on Grandfather No marched. He ate young lizards as they basked on rocks and caught them as they slipped under rocks, his bleached and firmed tendons and muscles growing snap-fast to grab and long and delicate to probe. The energy and warmth of his prey entered him, and he grew younger and more vigorous with each life he stole, a quick and lithe predator. His movements grew jerky and darting, and he walked until one day he stood alone in the desert, mouth empty of flesh, and surveyed the horizon from atop a single broken rock.
I am what I am meant to be, said Grandfather No. All of this will be mine one day, I think.
He walked home then, and ate little on the trip, yet remained as lively and rapid as ever. The scuttling people never heard his three-toed footsteps coming pit-a-pat upon the red dirt towards them, never saw his fanged snout approaching their delicate eyes, but they knew those places he roamed were not theirs, and they left in great fear.
All of this took quite some time, and the defeat of the scuttling people with many eyes took longer still. By the time the last of them had vanished the grandmothers and grandfathers had nearly forgotten where the children had been left, and had had many new children of their own. They called and called and called, so loudly that it rang across all the world and deep into the burrow of the children, but their voices had grown strange and unfamiliar to their ears, and they were good children, and made not a sound in replay.
I can’t find them, wailed Grandmother Cth, splashing in the seas. I traded my legs for flippers, land for sea.
I can’t find them, rumbled Grandmother Cru, drifting through the swamps, I am not meant for such long walks, armoured as I am.
I can’t find them, squawked Grandfather Ter, flitting through the trees, I cannot sit upon the ground again, and I am too high up to see them.
I will find them, hissed Grandfather No, padding across the land.
That is good, the others said.
Grandfather No took many more steps before he found the children’s place, some on top of each other, but he did find them, following his snout. He opened it up with his delicate hands and found that the children were many now. Alone in the cold they’d made strange soft stuff from their skins to keep the warmth, and they had had their own children long, long ago, feeding them on milk. They did not recognize him, and hissed and snapped, and Grandfather No felt a coldness arise in his warm-beating heart as he looked upon them.
If you will not know your elders as such, he said, you will know them as your betters. I and my children, and their children beyond will teach you this lesson until you know us again. He fell upon the children and drove them deep into their burrows, and killed and ate several before he returned.
The children are not our children any longer, he told the grandmothers and grandfathers. They have gone from our sight. And the others mourned for the loss, but not for too long, for they had children of their own to look after now, and Grandfather No the most.